


Heirs to the trash throne

by BinaryIsForRobots



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Bad Ending, Because of Reasons, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, FTM Matt | Mail Jeevas, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mello (Death Note) is an asshole, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trans Male Character, Wammy's House (Death Note), dysfunctional everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinaryIsForRobots/pseuds/BinaryIsForRobots
Summary: Once upon a time, Mello unilaterally decided they were best friends. And Matt's pretty much been along for the ride ever since- regardless of whether or not he wants to be.
Relationships: Linda & Mello | Mihael Keehl & Matt | Mail Jeevas & Near | Nate River, Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Mello

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know I have a million other WIPs to be writing. No, that will not stop me. So enjoy this fic that alternates between my OTP as kids and them as incredibly dysfunctional adults. :D

Matt drums his fingers against the bar’s scuffed up countertop, impatiently wondering what the hell he’s doing here. 

He hates being outside. He hates being around other people. He doesn't even like alcohol, not really. And yet here he is, at this shitty bar, with a drink that tastes like it’s giving him diabetes with every sip, waiting for some rando who messaged him online, telling him he’s supposedly got a big job for him.

At any rate, he just hopes the combination of shitty ambient lighting and the flashing strobes of this tacky bar are enough to keep any nosy passerby from taking any pictures. So he supposes he’s got that bit of security going for him.

Good thought. Doesn't do anything to stop his anxiety though. 

(this shit is why he hates leaving his damn apartment.)

Shoulda brought headphones- this music is way too fucking loud, and nowhere near the sort of thing he’d ever listen to of his own accord. 

Meeting someone for a job out in the open like this, with the world the way it is, makes Matt wonder if he’s lost his mind (or maybe just become suicidal). 

He chugs the cocktail of sugary whatever that probably costs way more than it should, tapping his fingers faster, until his hand is basically vibrating, jostling his right leg about to burn off some nervous energy.

_ If that asshole doesn't show up right fucking now- _

“Christ, did ya mainline espresso before you got here?”

-Just as quickly as he started, Matt goes completely still, all the air evacuating his lungs at once.

That voice.

It’s a little lower than it used to be. A little bit rougher, maybe. But Matt knows he’d be dead in the cold, hard ground before he didn’t recognize it.

“What’s with that face? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Matt sets his drink down, when he realizes his hand is shaking so badly he’ll spill it if he doesn't. 

“...what the hell?” he chokes out.

Mello doesn't respond for a few seconds; for a second, Matt wonders if he wasn’t loud enough.

“Been awhile, huh? I guess this might be a bit of a shock.”

Matt opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Picks up his drink, then drains it in a single swallow.

“What the hell?!” he repeats, more forcefully.

“Jeez. Good to see ya too, Mattyboy.”

Mello’s hand presses between his shoulder blades, in a gesture that shouldn’t be as soothing as it is. He lets out a put-upon sigh, like having to explain himself is some huge inconvenience.

“I know you’re pissed at me. I know I bailed. But I really need your help here- that’s why I found you.”

Mello leans against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding his face close to Matt’s ear. When he whispers, it raises goosebumps all up Matt’s arms. When he runs a gloved hand through his auburn hair, it sends a chill up his spine.

(damn it, he missed hearing that voice.)

“I’m going after Kira. I have a plan, but I can’t do it by myself.”

Ah. Figures. After...well, it’s no wonder Mello’s on this little revenge quest.

“You know getting Kira won’t bring him back.”

“It ain’t about that.”

“Sure, man. Sure.”

Matt pries himself out of Mello’s grip, stalking out into the scorching night air, fumbling with his jacket pocket as he goes. He can tell Mello is following him out, but he has something more urgent pressing on his mind.

Despite his trembling, he manages to finagle a cigarette free from its packaging, and flick his lighter on for long enough to get it lit. He ducks into the narrow alley between the club and the building next door so he can have his cigarette in peace.

(well, relative peace anyway. Away from the crowd of people, at least.)

The acrid smoke floods his lungs with the first deep drag he takes, soothing the edges of his frayed nerves and helping him get a grip on himself. 

“Since when did you take up smoking?”

He doesn't have to look at Mello to tell he’s raising an eyebrow.

“Since fuck you, it’s none of your business,” Matt snaps back at him.

“Alright, alright. Just curious, no need to get pissy with me.”

Mello stands there beside him in a rare moment of silence, watching the clouds of exhaled smoke rise up and dissipate in the warm night air while fiddling with a lock of golden hair.

After a minute or so of that, he smiles.

“Fuck, I missed your face.”

“Flattery isn’t gonna getcha shit outta me.”

“Just take a goddamned compliment will ya?”

Matt grumbles, stamping out his stub of a cigarette with his heel and immediately lighting another.

He finally dares to take a glance out of the corner of his eye to get a better look at his long-disappeared friend.

First thing that comes to his mind is  _ how the fuck did he get even prettier since then?! _

That pin-straight blond hair frames a face that belongs on a goddamned magazine cover. Bright blue eyes peer out from beneath a fringe of cornsilk, ringed by long, dark eyelashes that’d make any woman jealous. 

He still carries himself with that same overinflated sense of confidence, with that same cocky smile Matt both hates and adores. He’s dressed top to bottom in skintight leather- so tight it’s like it’s painted over his lithe frame.

(Still small, even after four years. He’s got a bit more muscle on him now, and he’s a  _ bit  _ taller than he was back then, but he’s still just barely north of tiny.)

“When did you start wearing lipstick?” Matt asks, to keep himself from commenting on any of that.

“Since fuck you,” Mello replies, making Matt bristle at having his own words thrown back at him.

“Look, does any of this shit matter? I found you for a reason, so are you in or not?”

“That depends a hell of a lot on what you need me for.”

Glancing around to make sure nobody else is invading their privacy, Mello leans in to cut to the chase.

“I need a missile.”

“A what now.”

“A missile.”

“But why the fuck do you need a-”

“-Don’t ask, it’ll make sense later.”

Matt opens his mouth, trying to tell Mello he’s lost his fucking mind. But he only gets as far as “You’ve lost-” before his mouth is very much otherwise occupied, and his cigarette falls to the ground to be forgotten.  


Well, it’s far from the first time Mello’s done this to him- that’d be when they were twelve (thirteen?) and Matt was whining that he didn’t want to do something or other. And Mello had grabbed him by the hair, just like he’s doing now. 

Of course, it’d been a clumsy, inexperienced kiss back then. Their teeth had clicked together, and they only barely avoided smashing their foreheads together. But it had been no less successful in silencing Matt’s dissent as it is now.

(part of Matt wonders where he’s learned to use his tongue like that. But another part of him knows he won’t like the answer.)

_ Thump. _

Matt’s back hits the wall of the club; he inwardly curses the fact that Mello has always been so much  _ stronger  _ than he looks. Matt tries to kick him off, but Mello not only blocks the attempt, he shoves his knee squarely between Matt’s legs to discourage any further efforts to break free.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Look who’s fuckin’ talking-”

The last word morphs into a confused groan when Mello decides to bury his face in the crook of Matt’s neck.

“C’mon, don’t make me beg. I need you.”

_ I need you. _

Goddamnit, Mello knows exactly what to say to get to him, doesn't he?!

“...You better fuckin’ make this worth it.”

“Don’t I always make shit worth it?”

“Oh shaddup will ya?”

Matt wants to argue more. Really,  _ really  _ wants to argue. But Mello’s mouth is on his neck again, and his hands are on his waist, and it’s impossible to argue against that. Not when he’s missed Mello for all these years. He’s wanted him back so badly for so long, he can’t summon up the willpower to tell him no.

(not that he’s ever really had the willpower to tell Mello no in the first place.) 

Damn it, he’s gonna have one hell of a hickey when Mello is done with him.

“Hey get a fucking room!” 

Some middle-aged woman walking a German shepherd wrinkles her nose, picking up her pace to put distance between them.

Mello smirks into Matt’s neck, letting out a small half-laugh while a hand wanders downward.

“Maybe we  _ should  _ get a room?” he muses, fingers fiddling with Matt’s belt buckle and laying a kiss against his jaw. “I’ve got a pretty nice place we could go…”

Matt tries in vain to shove Mello off him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” he hisses. “You walked out on me for  _ four years,  _ and you think you can just walk back in and say ‘hey let’s fuck’ and I’m just gonna go along with that?!” 

“Uh, yeah?”

And well-

Matt gives a few more halfhearted protests, he’s pretty sure. But in his heart of hearts, he knows Mello is going to get his way.

With Matt, Mello has  _ always  _ gotten his way. He doesn't even really have to try.  


* * *

* * *

“What’re ya doin’ holed up in here by yourself?”

Mail grumbles something Mello can’t quite hear, not bothering to so much as glance up from his handheld game console. He clicks away at the buttons like Mello hasn’t even spoken, a series of little beeping sounds emanating from the little device along with the chiptune soundtrack. The glow of the handheld console is the only light in the otherwise abandoned classroom.

Mello watches the lights reflect off the boy’s thick glasses, huffing to broadcast his annoyance at being ignored.

“Y’know the rec room has chairs n’ shit. You don’t gotta hide out here all alone.”

Finally, the younger boy stops playing his game. But only for long enough to shoot Mello a wicked glare.

“Mind your own business,” he grumbles.

“Gee, can’t a guy be curious? What’re you playin’ anyway?”

Mello reaches out to grab the game; out of the blue, the younger boy howls in aggravation, kicking him square in the stomach and sending him toppling backward.

“I said mind your own business!”

Mello lets out a string of curse words as he gets back onto his feet, clutching his abdomen in agony.

“I was just tryin’ to be friendly- you don’t gotta be an asshole!”

“I don’t want you to be friendly! I want you to leave!”

Mello can’t help but smirk.

“I think this is the most you’ve ever talked since you got here.”

The overwhelming urge to throw something is getting harder for Mail to ignore.

“Why do you care?!” 

Mello throws his arms out in frustration.

“I dunno! Maybe I’m just fuckin’ bored okay?! Or maybe it’s just a fuckin’ buzzkill that you always sit around lookin’ like someone shot your dog! Fuck me for caring right?!” 

Mello folds his arms tight, letting out a gust of air that sends his bangs flying upward. He leans up against the unused blackboard, wearing an ugly face that doesn't suit his delicate features one bit.

“Look,” he says, making an attempt at diplomacy. “I dunno why the hell you’re here. But you are, and that means somethin’ real shitty happened to ya. That’s probably why you’re always hiding right?”

The red-haired boy grimaces. At last, he turns his game off and tucks it into his pocket, getting onto his feet gingerly.

“...Why do you care?” he asks again, less aggressively this time.

“I dunno. Maybe I’m just bored. I guess you just looked like maybe you’re interesting.”

Mail rolls his eyes, fidgeting with his glasses and eyeing Mello suspiciously.

“They got somethin’ they call you or what? I’m-”

“-Mello. I know. I hear the adults yelling at you all the time.”

(Hears him yelling back all the time, too. It’s a wonder all the fancy stained-glass windows of Wammy’s House haven’t shattered with how much Mello shrieks. A goddamned banshee in black pajamas, that guy is.)

The younger boy shrugs his skinny shoulders.

“I dunno. They told me not to tell anyone what my name was before, n’ I don’t got a new one yet.”

Mello doesn't seem too put off by that. He just keeps talking, tugging on the other boy’s shirt sleeve the whole time.

“Yeah, took ‘em like three weeks to figure out what they wanted to call me. C’mon, I wanna go outside.”

“Go outside by yourself, I just wanna play my game.”

“You can play that outside- it’s stuffy in here anyway!”

“I said I don’t wanna-”

-Somehow, some way, he winds up getting dragged outside by Mello in spite of his protests. It’s a warm, sunny sort of day, with a gentle breeze that barely manages to rustle the leaves of the ash trees in the courtyard.

Gross.

Mello seems to love it, though. He looks content as anything, bouncing a soccer ball off his knees with far more coordination than he figures he could ever manage.

(people here seem to like that stuff way more than anyone back in America. Weird.)

No matter how much he tries to re-focus on his game, Mello just won’t stop talking, even as he bounces that stupid ball around.

He talks about schoolwork. About the teachers he likes and the caretakers he hates. About the different kinds of birds around the institution and about some stray cat he found the other day. He chatters on about fucking everything and nothing at all, and all Mail wants to do is tell him to  _ just be quiet already. _

But as soon as he opens his mouth to do so-

“-Y’know, I think I like you.”

Mail raises an eyebrow at him, in a silent  _ how can you know that already  _ gesture.

Mello bounces the soccer ball off his head, then catches it in his hands.

“I dunno. You’re easy to talk to I guess. Nobody else here just lets me say stuff without being annoying about it. I guess it’s nice to have someone listen to me.”

_ I wasn’t really paying attention,  _ Mail wants to say, but he doesn't. Because that happy look Mello has makes a weird, warm sort of feeling tug at his chest; he doesn't understand it, but he doesn't want that feeling to go away.

“So, what  _ are  _ you playin’ anyway?”

Mello flops down in the grass beside him, craning his neck to try and see better.

“‘S just Pokémon,” Mail mumbles, trying to focus on the battle he’s just started.

“Oh neat. I never played before, is it any good?”

“I mean, I guess?”

Mello watches him play for another minute or two, before deciding kicking the ball around is still more interesting. He goes back to his chattering on about whatever, but this time Mail isn’t quite as irritated by it.

At any rate, it’s better than him screaming.


	2. Rocket science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is about as awkward as one would expect in his position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH I just wanna get to the dirty stuff next chapter, but hopefully this doesn't such too much :P

* * *

* * *

“What did you do?!” 

Mihael can barely hear his father’s coldhearted laugh over the sound of his own heart thundering in his ears- louder, it seems, than even the gunshots that had rung out before.

“I told her if she didn’t shut up, I’d shut ‘er up. So I did.”

Something warm and wet squishes into the once-white carpet under the boy’s bare foot; all the breath evacuates his body when he realizes it’s his mother’s blood, and he has to choke back the urge to vomit.

His knees give out underneath him; he reaches out to shake the still form of (what used to be) his mother.

“Mom? Mom, are you okay?”

“Dumb fuck kid, just like her, huh? She’s got three bullets in her head. You like fuckin’ around with math problems, right? Put that one together.”

Gingerly, Mihael reaches out to touch the mess of blood and gore that used to be her shiny blonde hair. 

“Mom-”

“-She can’t hear ya, kid.”

There’s a click, and the sharp smell of tobacco when his father lights up a cigarette. 

All the while, the lights on the Christmas tree twinkle away merrily, as though nothing’s wrong in the world. 

Mihael’s little fingers close around the silver rosary around his mother’s neck- her treasure, her prized possession.

_ “It keeps me close to God,”  _ she told him, when he’d inquired after it.  _ “As long as I’ve got it with me, I’ve got Him with me.” _

_ ‘...what about me? Will he stay with me, too?” _

_ “If you live a good life,” his mother tells him, running her fingers through his silky blond hair (hair that looks just like hers). “He can only be with you if you let Him.” _

(Mihael wonders what his mom did wrong, for God to let this happen to her.)

“Hey, maybe if you pray hard enough, the bitch’ll come back to life.”

Stepping over his mother’s body, Mihael’s father stumbles outside, grumbling to himself the entire way; the heavy smell of liquor lingers in the room even after he leaves. Mihael bows his head, and even though he knows it won’t do any good, he does exactly as the man said. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays. 

He begs for God to heal his mother- just like He did in those stories she’d read to him as he fell asleep. He begs. He cries. But even so, when he opens his eyes again, she’s still laying lifeless on the carpet, her blood creeping into the pure white and sullying it forever.

Useless.

Laying with his head against her chest, he spots the gun his father used to do this unspeakable act. He glares at it, like the inanimate piece of metal is the reason he doesn't have a mother anymore.

After a few eons, Mihael hears the man stumble back in, mumbling something about the police being there soon.

The gun is heavy in Mihael’s hands- heavier than he thought it would be.

And when he shuts his eyes and pulls the trigger, the gun is loud- far louder than he thought they would be.

His ears ring, his arms ache, his hands burn. Somehow the shot manages to hit his father, as he drops to the ground, writhing and cursing up a storm.

When the ringing in his ears starts to subside, he hears the sirens.

* * *

* * *

_ The fuck am I doing? _

Matt can’t help but wonder that, even as he wraps his arms tight around Mello’s waist to keep from flying off his motorcycle.

Mello doesn't seem to give a single fuck about the car Matt left behind, and doesn't say a word about where the hell they’re going. But just like it’s always been, he’s already resigned himself to just rolling along with whatever the hell Mello has in mind. 

(Even after all these years, some things really never change.)

Abruptly, the motorcycle swings into a dangerously narrow alleyway and screeches to a halt. Mello gets off the motorcycle with an obnoxious amount of grace. Matt fumbles his way off the bike with considerably less grace.  


“C’mon,” Mello commands, grabbing Matt’s wrist and tugging him along. “Lemme show you why I need that missile.”

“Do I have a choice?” Matt mumbles, even though he doesn't expect to get an answer.

They go through two different doors with five different locks between them, before arriving in a room absolutely thick with tension.

Matt is acutely aware he’s being stared at, but he pointedly keeps his own eyes pointed at the carpet.

On the other hand, Mello doesn't seem ruffled in the slightest. 

“Alright listen up because I really fuckin’ hate repeating myself. Matt’s gonna help us take care of shit so I don’t want anyone giving him a hard time, got me?”

Matt is painfully aware that he doesn't have an impressive appearance. He just wishes the others would stop looking at him.

“Eh? That guy? You serious?”

“Yes I’m fucking serious and I expect you not to bitch about it. Now for fuck’s sake whose dick do I have to suck to get a goddamned drink around here?”

Out of his peripheral vision, Matt watches Mello sprawl out across a zebra-striped couch, holding a gloved hand out to take the glass of something or other from some weaselly guy with dishwater hair.

“How’s our guest been holding up? She didn’t seem too happy when I left.”

“Still whining like usual- not like we can understand any of the shit she’s babbling about anyway.”

“Shame- she’d be hot if she wasn’t bitchin’ all the time.”

Matt finally makes himself look up, his curiosity too much to bear.

“-Who?”

“Ah, right-”

Mello sets his drink on the table in front of him, grabbing the laptop that’s been sitting there. He flips it open, beckoning Matt closer with one hand while powering it on with the other.

“Her name’s Sayu Yagami. We’re borrowing her for a second while we wait for her dad and his incompetent cop buddies hand over the thing we need.”

Matt blinks, unable to quite comprehend what he’s staring at.

Well, he knows  _ what.  _ It’s a really cute Japanese girl, curled up in the corner of a bare room (or closet or something), rocking back and forth. Her eyes are wide, terrified, and she mumbles things he can’t quite make out.

Mello hits a few buttons on his laptop and starts talking in Japanese, getting her to jerk her head up and stare at where the camera must be.

“You don’t seem very happy,” he says, dripping sarcasm from every word.

The girl wrings her long, dark hair in her shaking hands, terror etched into every fiber of her being.

_ “P-please let me g-go home,”  _ she begs, absolute terror etched onto her tear-stained face.  _ “I-I just want to go home-” _

“I already told you we can’t do that yet. Just bear with it until your daddy comes to get you, okay?”

The poor thing doesn't seem at all comforted by that.

_ “I-I just want my mom and dad- I swear I won’t tell anyone anything-” _

“What the fuck?” is all Matt can muster.

Mello hits that same sequence of buttons, apparently cutting the audio, as the girl’s pleading gets cut off again.

Out of seemingly nowhere, he pulls out a chocolate bar, pulling the foil off and snapping a square off.

“It’s gonna sound totally batshit,” he says, rolling his head from one side to the other. “But there are notebooks out there that can kill people. I’m pretty sure Kira’s been using it to kill people, and that at least one of them is with the Japanese police. So we’re gonna trade Sayu for the notebook.”

Matt raises an eyebrow.

(he hasn’t had nearly enough to drink for this to sound anything close to plausible.)

“Okay,” he says, “and  _ why  _ exactly do you need Kira’s murder-notebook so badly?”

Mello’s blue eyes narrow dangerously, his empty hand curling into a tight fist.

“So I can get Kira’s head on a fuckin’ plate before Near gets the chance.”

“Okay.”

Matt takes a deep breath, focusing on the weird stain on the wall so he doesn't have to look at anyone.

“Okay,” he says again. “Lemme make sure I got this straight.”

He can still  _ feel  _ Mello staring at him, and he can  _ hear  _ the other guys muttering amongst themselves in annoyed, annoy _ ing  _ voices. But he does his best to tune that out. Yet again, he finds himself grabbing a cigarette and his lighter, lighting it up and taking a long drag, trying to picture his irritation dissipating with the cloud of smoke he exhales.

“Okay. So, you took it upon yourself to kidnap the daughter of a fucking police officer. Not just  _ a  _ police officer, but one of the police officers trying to catch Kira in the fuckin’ first place.”

He deliberately keeps his tone deadpan, otherwise he knows he’s going to start yelling.

“-And you’re doing this because you wanna get a killer notebook that you think Kira’s been using to do all his weird shit. And you wanna do  _ that  _ because you’re in the middle of a dick-measuring contest with Near to see who can get to Kira first.”

“That’s the short version, yeah. Any questions?”

“Just the one- what the actual  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you?”

Daring to glance at Mello, he sees him shrug his skinny shoulders, taking another bite of his chocolate.

“You want the Cliffnotes summary? ‘Cause we’ll be here all day if we’re goin’ over the whole list.”

“Hey uh, who the hell is this Near guy?” the dark-skinned man in the armchair across from Mello asks.

“A fuckin’ prick none of you guys have to worry about,” Mello answers, curtly. “Like hell I would let him interfere.”

The door at the far end of the room opens. A tall, totally bald man in an expensive suit comes in, wrapping up some sort of conversation on the phone. Matt catches him saying  _ “-and if you fuck it up again, you know what’s gonna happen,” _ before he abruptly hangs up.

“Sorry I’m late- dealing with some business.”

Mello lets out a grunt of acknowledgement in response.

The new arrival gives Matt a cursory up-and-down glance.

“This the guy you were tellin’ me about?”

Mello’s eyes dart from one man to the other.

“Yep. Ross, this is Matt. Matt, Ross. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other so get used to it.”

Ross smiles, although the smile is nowhere close to friendly.

“Anyone who’s good with Mello’s good with me. We’ll get along just fine.”

Matt pointedly ignores him.

“So the fuck do you need a missile for anyway? Please don’t tell me you’re planning on blowing this guy up on top of kidnapping his kid.”

“Nah, nothing like that. Just need some insurance to make sure they can’t track us once we’ve got the notebook.”

Matt nods along, leaning over the couch to watch the girl over Mello’s shoulder.

(nothing Mello says ever makes any sense, but he knows better than to question it further.)

“‘Kay. When do you need that by?”

“Three days.”

“It’s literal rocket science, Mel.”

“Yeah. Is it gonna be a problem?”

Taking another drag on his cigarette, Matt mulls it over in his mind.

“Nah, but it isn’t gonna be cheap.”

“-Two million up front. Another three once it’s done,” Ross answers, taking his own seat in an overstuffed armchair with a glass of some expensive alcohol. “Sound good?”

Matt almost inhales his cigarette whole.

_ Jesus assfucking Christ that’s a lot of money,  _ he screams inside his head, barely managing to refrain from saying it aloud.

“...Yeah,” he says, instead, hoping he still looks calm. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Are you serious, Boss?”

“Do I fuckin’ joke, José? It’s a rush job- it’s only fair to pay a premium for it.”

The other man falls silent.

Matt finishes his cigarette and lights another, green eyes darting between the laptop screen and his former best friend.

“What happens after you get the notebook?”

“We hand Sayu back to her dad. They fuck off back home. Just a bad weekend for her.”

Matt rolls his eyes, not bothering to point out the gaping flaw in that logic.

Mello reaches up and pats his cheek, with that  _ goddamned  _ smirk that Matt hates and loves so damn much.

“Just be a good boy and help me out, okay? I’ll worry about the details.”

“Call me that one more time and I’m putting this out in your eye,” Matt retorts, waving his cigarette to embellish the threat.

“Sure, hon. So, when do you wanna get started?”

“How soon can you get me the gear I need?”

“Oh I’ve already got all that shit taken care of."  


Once again, Matt finds himself blinking from surprise.

“I knew you’d help me out, so I got prepared so we didn’t have to waste any time.”

_ Oh fuck you,  _ Matt grumbles to himself.

Mello really hasn’t changed one fucking bit. Still just as fucking presumptive and pushy and bossy as he’s ever been. He hates Mello for it- just as much as he hates Mello for being right. Like he usually is.  


“Alright, fine. Lead the way.”

Mello finishes off his drink, leaving the empty glass next to the laptop when he stands up. He stretches out, bearing still more of his abdomen in that short leather vest he’s got on.

“Don’t fuck anything up while I’m gone,” he cautions, grabbing Matt’s wrist again and heading toward the door Ross had emerged from. And, docilely, hating himself for it, Matt follows.

Just like always.

  
  



	3. Try me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dirty stuff I mentioned last time. I regret nothing and yet I regret everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of past self-harm, trans-type talk, some dubious consent

“You been at this all night?” 

Matt lets out an undignified yelp, suddenly jerked from his peaceful work on Mello’s pet project by the sound of his old friend’s voice.

He recomposes himself as quickly as he can, pointedly ignoring Mello’s snort at his indignity. He connects a few more wires, tightens a few odds and ends inside the hollow metal tube.

“You said you need this in three days. The fuck did you expect me to be doing?”

“I dunno, sleeping?”

Mello peers over his shoulder; heat radiates off him like a furnace.

“What about you then?” Matt snaps back. “What’re you doing down here at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a run, figured I’d see what you were up to.”

Well, that explains why Mello’s turned into a walking furnace.

Matt finally turns around. Somehow, he managed to totally miss Mello swiping the can sitting on the table next to him. He cringes and wrinkles his nose when he takes a drink, turning it around to read the label on the back.

“How the fuck do you drink this shit?” he groans. “It tastes like fucking battery acid.”

“Caffeine is caffeine,” Matt replies, snatching it back. “The fuck does it matter?” 

“Dunno, I’d rather have some good coffee.”

“Well then you can go and make me some.”

Mello huffs, wiping sweat off his brow with the towel around his neck.

“Whatever, man. If you want kidney stones that’s your business.”

Matt has a retort, but he’s too busy admiring the lean muscle in Mello’s legs to get the words out.

His red running shorts don’t particularly leave much to the imagination, clinging to every contour of the muscle (and uh, something else) underneath. As nice as the view is, though, the mess of scars all along the alabaster skin put a damper on Matt’s enjoyment.

(at least he gets a bit of comfort knowing there aren’t any fresh wounds there, even though the scars still make him sad.)

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Before Matt can retort, Mello is kissing him again. Shamelessly groping his ass through his jeans, pressing himself in close and shoving Matt against the table.

“Hey what the _hell’s_ gotten into you?!” Matt demands, once he manages to shove his head away.

Mello almost looks offended that Matt broke the kiss off, but he buries it with the most obscenely smug smirk.

“You just look really hot when you’re distracted. I had to.”

“Cut it the fuck out, I’m busy! Do you want this shit ready in three days or not?!” 

“Aw come on, you’re already workin’ way faster than I expected you to. Besides, if you never take a break it’s gonna turn out shit anyway.”

He wraps his arms around Matt’s waist.

“Come on. You and I both need a shower- the one at my place is great.”

“Kay. Whatever you- _hey,_ watch where you’re grabbing!”

Mello pays him no mind, reaching his hand down the front of his jeans, shamelessly groping him through his underwear.

“Still don’t have much down here, do ya?”

“You fuckin’ know why,” Matt snarls at him.

“Yeah, God’s sick little joke, right?” 

“You say that like I believe any of that sh-ah, hey stop it-”

Mello smiles against his neck, pressing his fingers up against the most sensitive part of his body.

“I really don’t care whether you’ve got a dick or not, so you can stop worrying, okay?”

“I-I’m not worried about that-”

Feeling his legs grow weaker and weaker as the heat in his belly grows more intense, Matt hangs onto the edge of the table and wishes this didn’t feel as good as it does- and wishes he could decide whether he wanted Mello to stop or not.

Abruptly, though, Mello breaks the contact.

“Come on,” he says, heading back toward the door. “My place is more comfortable anyway.”

* * *

_What the hell am I doing?_

Matt screams that at himself over and over, hating himself for once again doing what Mello wanted.

As nice as the apartment is, as wonderful as the shower was, as comfortable as this bed is, Matt can’t enjoy any of it. Not with the giant knot in his stomach, knowing exactly what Mello brought him here for.

Fidgeting with the ties on the pajama pants Mello threw at him, he curses himself, because alongside the anxiety, there’s still an impatience, a longing for it he can’t crush down.

He squeezes his legs together, trying to banish that feeling by sheer willpower.

It doesn't work.

He jolts when his train of thought suddenly gets derailed by the bathroom door opening, accompanied by a huge cloud of steam.

“Jeez, you trying to boil yourself alive or what?” 

Mello shrugs, tousling his hair with a towel.

“Sometimes I like practicing burning in hell.”

Matt only half registers that. He’s too distracted by Mello’s bare chest, by the sharp planes of muscle that cut a path down to a thatch of coarse blond hair that disappears beneath the pure white towel wrapped around his hips.

Walking over to the edge of the bed, Mello wraps the second towel around his shoulders, yanking him in close to once again to steal another kiss.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans against Matt’s neck. Matt tries to back up, but Mello just climbs onto the bed with him, grabbing him by the shoulders, then shamelessly groping lower and lower down.

“Hey hold up-”

Mello doesn't listen. His hands continue their downward pursuit, reaching into Matt’s pajama pants to grope that part of him skin to skin.

“I can’t,” Mello answers, pressing a finger between the wet folds of skin. “Besides- looks like I’m not the only one who needs this.”

Fuck. _Fuck._ Even without a- well- Matt’s body _still_ manages to give him away. 

Goddamn it.

“I wanna fuck you.”

Well. Mello is still as direct as he’s ever been. And judging by the erection standing proud between his legs when he lets the towel fall from his hips, he’s telling the truth.

Matt has to admit, in spite of himself-

Well, he kind of likes the attention.

And it makes him happy knowing Mello really doesn't care about what’s between his legs. Knowing that, when Mello had said _“Having a dick doesn't make you a guy, n’ missing it doesn't mean you’re not,”_ a lifetime ago, he had meant it.

 _“Easy for you to say,”_ Matt retorted, back when they had only done innocent things like hold each other’s hands or kiss. _“You haven’t seen it.”_

 _“Try me,”_ Mello had shot back.

(Does this count as trying him?)

That happiness buys Mello time to pull his pajama pants down and off, tossing them carelessly aside. He slips another finger inside along with the first, curling them up inside to make Matt groan from the sparks of pleasure it generates, even though the stretch burns a little bit. He nips playfully along his jaw, down the side of his neck, then, finally, his shoulder. 

Matt yelps when he’s shoved backwards so he’s laying flat on the plush red bedding.

“Quit it-”

It’s a halfhearted protest- not really a protest at all, really. And Mello knows that.

“Just relax. I’ll do the work this time, you just lay there and let it feel good.”

 _This time._ So Mello is as presumptuous as ever, too.

Mello stares at him with those sharp blue eyes, a hungry glint in them as he alternates between rubbing his fingers inside and pulling them out to roll Matt’s prominent clitoris between them.

The heat in Matt’s belly keeps building, making his head go fuzzy and his vision start to blur. Until, finally, it hits its peak. He jerks his hips up into Mello’s hand, clenching his jaw, his muscles jerking like they’re being pulled by invisible puppet strings.

Mello smirks against the scars across Matt’s chest, an air of smug satisfaction about him.

“That was quick.”

“Shut up-”

Still smirking, Mello leans over to reach into the nightstand drawer to pull out a square of blue foil. He tears it open with his teeth, pausing for a second to slip the condom over his eager arousal. It throbs in anticipation through its thin rubber sheath. 

Matt swallows thickly, his throat suddenly turning to the Sahara. He grabs Mello’s wrist to try to get his attention and quell the thrill of fear inside him.

“Slow down a little-”

Mello smirks against his neck, his dick shoved impatiently against the hollow of his thigh.

“Why? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m not-”

“-Then chill. I know what I’m doing, so just lemme handle this.”

Matt chokes on his own objection.

Half of him wants to argue. He wants to tell Mello there’s no way in hell he’s gonna put that _thing_ inside him. That there’s no way it’s gonna fit-

But _god_ does the other half of him have other ideas.

Mello’s gotten him so wet he’s making a puddle on the red silk bed sheets, his insides aching with the want for it. And when Mello kisses his neck- oh, Lord…

Mello doesn't allow any further room for protest.

Matt lets out a garbled cry of what he thinks is pain, but can’t be sure of. 

“Don’t tense up,” Mello scolds him.

“It fuckin’ _hurts,_ ” Matt hisses back.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ baby. It’s just the head.”

Fuck. _fuck._ That was just-

Mello sighs, laying a few kisses along his jaw.

“Relax, will ya? I got this.”

 _Easier said than done,_ Matt snarks to himself. But he tries to unclench his tense muscles. Tries to _breathe_. And tries to ignore Mello laughing as he slowly, but relentlessly works his way in deeper.

“Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never-”

“-Who the fuck would I have ever done it with?!” 

Mello goes still for a moment. Blinks while the fact registers. Then, he grabs a handful of Matt’s hip and surges forward.

“ _Ow-”_

“Fuck, y’know how hot that is?” Mello groans against his ear, not paying his cry of pain any mind. “You really saved yourself just for me?”

“W-wasn’t for you,” Matt grumbles, not able to think clearly anymore.

“Mm, sure. Whatever you say.”

Mercifully, Mello stays still for a minute, allowing the fire to die down until Matt’s pretty sure he won’t tear in half anymore. Until he can force himself to not clench down so tightly. He tries to focus on the feeling of Mello’s fingers through his auburn hair, rather than the ache.

“You’re shaking.”

Mello is right. Matt’s hands, tangled up in the bedding, are trembling terribly. And so is the rest of him. Whether it’s from the pain of being stretched too far, too quickly, or from the unbearable need for Mello to do something more than be still inside him, he doesn't know.

“Fuck, you feel so good…”

Through hazy vision, Matt has to admire Mello’s gorgeous, pleasure-flushed face. He looks over the moon, happier than he’s ever seen him-

“...I missed you.”

-and Mello’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it. He touches Matt like he’s some priceless treasure. Lays a trail of gentle kisses down his throat and across the scars on his chest. All the while every fiber of his being is tense, like being this gentle is taking all his self control.

Slender fingers play around the place where they connect, drawing a low groan out of Matt’s throat.

“I’m not hurting you too bad, am I?”

“I- I don’t think so. Just-”

Matt fumbles with where to put his hands, before finally settling on Mello’s shoulders.

“-Just go slow, okay?”

“Slow...yeah…”

Mello at least manages to oblige that one request. At least at first.

He moves his hips carefully, burying his face in the crook of Matt’s neck. After a minute or so, the ache dies down a bit; he rolls his hips upward carefully, startled by the whine that erupts out of him when he does so.

“Cute,” Mello moans, and starts moving faster, grabbing Matt’s thighs and shoving them upward for better leverage.

“I’m not c- _ahn-_ ”

They get lost in the feeling after that, losing track of time until, without warning, Mello growls, something low and primal, losing his rhythm before his entire body goes rigid.

“Fuck,” he hisses, between gritted teeth, trying to catch his breath.

He looks good like that- flushed, spent, an expression on his face akin to relief. He stares when he pulls out of Matt, letting out a shaky sigh. And all Matt can do is whimper, feeling exposed and a little embarrassed at Mello’s leering.

Laying a kiss right about Matt’s navel, Mello smiles.

“Fuck, I waited too long for that,” he breathes. 

Matt idly reaches up to wipe away a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth. 

“...Now we need another shower,” he mumbles.

“Later,” Mello answers, laying his head against his chest and closing his eyes. He already looks half asleep.

Matt would complain; he’d tell Mello that he needs to go back to work on his stupid pet project. But Mello is still clinging to him, and he feels so tired after this…

He can’t help but fall asleep as well.

(He can’t remember the last time he slept this well.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a breather for some character bits before I get shit rolling for reals, I promise.

“What’re you doing?” 

“I can’t find Mello anywhere!”

“Matt-”

He blows right past Linda before he can hear what she has to say. He can tell it’s probably something bad, but he can’t calm himself enough to stop for it.

Matt’s body hums with electricity as he storms through the halls, checking every room in a desperate attempt to find his friend.

“Hey, where’d Mel run off to?”

He bangs on the door to the playroom on the second floor, even as he’s barging in.

All the noise he makes still doesn't get a response from the playroom’s current occupant. He continues to stack the colorful blocks on the floor, one after another, in an ever growing tower. 

“Hey, you got cotton in your ear or what?!”

The boy stops, midway through placing another block. He sets it down again, instead deciding to fiddle with a lock of his curly white hair.

“Come on, stop being stupid! Where’s Mel? I haven’t seen him all day!”

Near doesn't turn his head. He can’t even be bothered to look at Matt when he answers.

“He’s gone.”

“...what?” 

“He left. He’s gone.”

Matt blinks. Balls his hands into white-knuckled fists. He feels his heart pick up its pace.

“That’s bullshit. Why would he do that if he wants to be the next L so bad-”

“-Because L is dead.”

“Huh…?”

Near goes back to stacking his blocks, setting them down a bit rougher than he was before.

“Kira killed L. He’s dead. He’s gone. Mello didn’t like Roger’s idea that he and I should succeed him together. So he left.”

The monotone of his voice wavers the tiniest bit on the last three words.

Matt gritts his teeth, glaring at the stained glass window at the far end of the room. His heart is frantic now, thundering in his ears while his anxiety builds.

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve got no reason to lie to you, Matt.”

“You’re  _ lying! _ ”

The whole room rattles when Matt smashes his fist against the doorframe. The rattling knocks over Near’s tower, the colorful blocks scattering across the floor. Finally, Near turns his head. It’s hard to read whether he’s merely mad about his toys being thrown into disarray, or about the situation in general. His black eyes narrow at him, startling against the fringe of his stark white hair.

“I told you, I’ve got no reason to lie to you. Mello is gone.”

Near turns his attention back to his toys, beginning to rebuild his block tower. 

“But why did he-”

“-I’ve already answered your question.”

Matt stops his foot in rage.

“I don’t get it! Why wouldn’t he tell me?!” 

Near merely shrugs. 

“I won’t pretend I understand Mello.”

Always so calm. Always so  _ cold.  _ So uncaring. How the hell can he just sit there like nothing’s wrong?!

Matt can’t help the howl of frustration and anger that escapes him. 

“Fuck you!” he screams, right before turning on his heel and bolting down the hallway. He shoves his way past the caretaker that came to investigate the commotion, past the eyes of the other children curious about the noise.

He throws open the door to what used to be their shared bedroom. He slams the door shut, jamming the chair from their desk under the knob and turning the lock.

Just as he dreads, a knock on the door follows in moments.

“Matt, what’s wron-”

“-Leave me alone!” he screams at the caretaker. Louder than he’s ever screamed in his life.

Grabbing a pillow off the bed, he shoves his face into it and shrieks until he thinks his throat might tear.

It’s not enough.

He throws the pillow with all his might, sending the bedside lamp crashing onto the floor and shattering into a million pieces. He overturns their desk, crushing both the computer and game consoles he’s so painstakingly built from scratch. The whole time, he cries out in anguish, dropping to his knees and doubling over like there’s a knife in his gut.

At some point while he’s wailing, the caretakers finally get the door open, rushing to try to soothe a pain that they can’t possibly hope to soothe.

And how can they, when his heart has been so suddenly and violently ripped away from him?! It’s like a great void’s been opened up inside him, and every good feeling he’s ever had or ever could have is being sucked up into a singularity of misery.

_ “You don’t gotta worry. I’m always gonna be here.” _

“Liar,” Matt sobs, when the energy ebbs away from him. “Liar liar liar liar liar liarliarliar-”

His babbling continues when they pick him up off the floor, picking the shards of glass out of his hands and knees. 

The pain in his body does nothing to draw him away from the pain in his heart.

* * *

There’s a moment of pure panic when Matt first wakes up to an empty bed. For a split second, even with the expensive red silk bedding, he wonders if perhaps he dreamt everything last night (even though the soreness deep inside him tells him it couldn’t be). 

That panic dissolves when, as if on cue, a weight dips the side of the bed. Mello leans over him, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“Told ya you needed sleep.”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Matt slurs, groggy and heavy with sleep.

“Mmm, I’d rather fuck you instead.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Jeez, you don’t gotta be so cranky.”

Mello drapes himself over Matt, rubbing his face against him in a quite catlike way.

Matt grumbles, cracking an eye to glare at him even though he can’t really be angry at him. He’s half dressed, looking like he got distracted halfway through putting on makeup.

“Do you always have to look so fucking smug?”

“‘M not smug. I’m just happy.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Mel.”

Mello wraps his arms around his waist, pressing all his weight against him.

(He’s so warm…)

“I got coffee going. It’s better for you than that bile you’ve been drinking.”

Matt rolls his eyes, deciding it’s not worth it to argue. 

He takes a deep breath, willing his heart to stop racing.

Mello is here. It wasn’t a dream. Mello is really  _ here,  _ he’s touching him. Holding him.

At this moment, everything is okay.

He reaches up to grab Mello, to prove that he’s still actually there. Before he can stop himself, he asks the question that’s been eating away at him for years.

“...Why’d you leave without me?”

Mello goes rigid. Matt tightens his grip, terrified Mello might run away again.

“You left me alone. Why? I would’ve gone with you.”

Mello sighs. 

“I know you would have.”

“So why?”

The percolating sound of the coffee pot in the other room is the only thing to break the silence for an eon. Mello runs his fingers through Matt’s auburn hair, a sort of heaviness in his expression.

“I don’t have an answer for ya,” he admits. “I didn’t even think about that when I ran.I just needed to get away. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

There it is. The sincere side of Mello that’s so hard to tease out; Matt’s glad it hasn’t died in the time they’ve been apart.

Mello is kissing his neck again, soothing the ache of the deep red marks he made there.

“I’m so glad I found you.”

_ You wouldn’t have had to find me if you didn’t run away. _

Matt doesn't say that out loud, however. He’s got a more immediately pressing need on his mind at the moment. He pushes Mello away from him, pointedly ignoring the indignant huff he gets in return.

“Hey lemme up- I need a cigarette.”

“Fine, fine. Just do it outside while you’re over, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Mel.”

“Oh I got some clothes sent over for ya- I’m pretty sure they’ll fit but lemme know if they don’t.”

“If it’s the same dominatrix gear you’ve gotten into I’m not interested.”

“Jesus Matt, you act like I don’t know ya. It’s nothing like that- there just in the drawer over there. Make yourself decent before heading out on the balcony or the neighbors are gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Yeah yeah.”

As he said, there’s a pair of brand new jeans and a long-sleeved striped shirt for him to put on. He puts them on quickly so he can grab his lighter and go outside.

He leans against the balcony railing, watching the sun creeping its way upward while he smokes.

After maybe a minute by himself, Mello joins him with a mug of coffee in each hand.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

The coffee is thick with sugar and some chocolate syrup, just shy of being too sweet for Matt to stand. But caffeine is caffeine, so he drinks it anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Mello staring at him.

“So uh-”

Mello hesitates- something that’s rare for him.

“So- uh, about uh-”

He gestures vaguely to his chest with a wave of his hand.

“How’d that happen?”

“Ten grand and a trip to Mexico,” Matt answers. 

“Huh. Well, they did a good job.”

“I guess so.”

Mello nurses his mug of coffee, a faint expression like his head is somewhere else.

“Why’d  _ you  _ leave, anyway?”

“Why would I stay?” Matt retorts. “There wasn’t anything left for me there.”

“I dunno. Don’t most of us get fake paperwork to get into some snooty university to get a cozy job or some shit?”

Matt smiles, for just a moment, at the thought.

“I’m not exactly cut out for that kinda life, Mel.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’d probably lose my mind too. But how come I get the feeling that’s not the whole reason?”

“Well whaddaya wanna hear? That Roger was being an insufferable old twat so I decided to bounce?”

Mello laughs, and this time his smile lingers a bit longer.

“Sounds about right.”

Matt finishes off the rest of his cigarette, scowling at the memory.

“I honestly don’t even know why he works there. If he’s just gonna be an asshole to the kids that come through you’d think he’d find better work.”

“Maybe he gets off on hating kids. Fuck if I know.”

Mello leans his weight against him, sharing his irritated expression.

“He’s probably the part I miss least about that place.”

The silence that follows is distinctly uncomfortable.

“...Hey, once Ross finishes payin’ ya off you can get the downstairs done too. I know a guy- he did José’s girlfriend’s- well, he does a good job.”

Matt can’t tell if Mello is fucking with him, or making a poor attempt at being helpful. So he rolls his eyes instead. Mello fidgets in a distinctly un-Mello-like fashion.

“So, what happened to the glasses?” he mumbles, trying to change the subject.

“Contacts. “

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Speaking of, if you could get one of those weirdos to grab those outta my apartment, I need to change these out pretty soon.”

“I’ll do it myself- I don’t trust any of those assholes as far as I can chuck ‘em.”

“Funny thing to say about the assholes you hang around with.”

“I don’t hang around ‘em cause I like ‘em. They’re a buncha useful idiots to have around, that’s all.”

Matt glares at the rising sun over the skyline, like that’s what’s annoying him at the moment. Mello wraps a hand around his waist, like he’s afraid he’ll run away.

(funny, considering everything.)

“Whatever you say, Mel.”

  
  
  



End file.
